Keep On Dreaming
by Cadavatar
Summary: Song fic. Jack looks back on the time when his only friends in the world were a half circle window with a picture of a mug of beer in the middle and the man who played guitar behind it. Based off of Eli Young Band's 'Even If It Breaks Your Heart'.


_Way back on the radio dial,  
The fire got lit inside a bright-eyed child.  
Every note just wrapped around his soul,  
From steel guitars to Memphis,  
all the way to rock and roll._

Jack knew every nook and cranny there was to know in the small town that had sprung up and expanded since he had been reborn; he knew the history, right down to where they used to put the large communal cooking fires back when there was no such thing as a gas stove. He knew every building, every occupied house, every apartment over every shop and restaurant. He knew how to get into the clock tower of the courthouse without having to climb the outside. He knew which house had the families that made the best food and which ones only smelled like they did.

But most importantly, he knew where the bars were- where the drunks would stumble out and slip on his ice while the troubled waitress's children would watch from the upstairs apartment. He knew which places it was best to avoid, even though he was invisible. But there was one hole in the wall that has stayed put since the 1800s, a place that he enjoyed, mainly for the nostalgia. They had this window he liked to sit in, a large half circle window with a stained glass picture of a cold mug of amber beer in the middle. He could sit with his back to one side and lay his leg across the windowsill and his foot still wouldn't touch the other side. He would sit there even when the bar was closed, for a multitude of reasons. There was a nice cross breeze coming off the street corner for one, which was a godsend in the humid summer months. It was also on Jamie's route home from school, so even back when the boy couldn't see him, he could watch him and all his walk by almost every other day. A lot of kids walked past him on their way home from school, and he would sit there for years, hoping at least one of them would call him out.

It never happened, but it was a nice dream.

_Ohhh, I can hear 'em playing.  
I can hear the ringing of a beat up old guitar,  
Ohhh, I can hear 'em singing,  
"Keep on dreaming, even if it breaks your heart."_

But his main reason was that there was a man who almost always came. It started sometime in the seventies, and Jack merely shrugged it off as a one-time deal until he started getting regular. Like, every night regular. He wouldn't drink; he'd just sit on the stage- located conveniently next to his window- and play. He'd sing too, in a low, gravelly voice. He wore a dark brown cowboy hat and flannel- always flannel, day in and day out, even in the summer! He would sing classics and country songs, even when the other patrons complained. He sat through and continued to play, his trusty acoustic guitar twanging just right. Some nights when Jack was upset, or lonely, he'd lean back against the window and close his eyes, letting that country music that almost everyone else seemed to hate flow over him like a wave of water.

Some nights he would sit there and cry. A song would hit him and he would pull his knees up to his chest, rest his forehead on his knees, and cry, because his existence was so damn _pitiful_ and _lonely_. No one ever saw him, no matter what he tried or how hard he worked for it. He would jump, wave, make snow, nip noses, make snow days, but nothing. They all just passed through him and kept right on going, ignoring his existence and carrying on with their lives, their conversations.

Conversations- what were those like? He rarely got to talk to anyone without it being one sided- when did he last see the Easter bunny? 1968? Santa Claus and the tooth fairy were even longer gone. His only friends were probably the sandman, who said nothing, and Phil, the yeti who kept kicking him out of North's shop, and that was absolutely saddening.

He was so damn lonely it was depressing.

_Downtown is where I used to wander.  
Old enough to get there but too young to get inside.  
So I would stand out on the sidewalk,  
Listen to the music playing every Friday night._

There was a music shop in town- that was where the old man worked. They sold vinyl and cassettes, then CDs when they came out. They sold instruments too, guitars and drums and electric things needed to plug the cool looking plastic ones in. The man would sit behind the counter and sell people music, though his eyes always lit up whenever a child came in to look at the guitar. He offered lessons, and he would teach them like they were his own grandchildren. Usually they only lasted a few sessions though, because their parents would give him looks. Jack knew those looks, those were the 'you're nice to my children but you're too old to be nice, go away' looks that really irritated him. So the man would sigh and go back to his own guitar, playing on his own again. Jack felt bad for him. He played so wonderfully, but when he didn't have someone else, his notes sounded... Empty.

Jack was always hanging around kids, but this old man, he was a kid at heart. He could tell, just by looking at him. That had to count for something.

_Ohhh, I can hear 'em playing.  
I can hear the ringing of a beat up old guitar,  
Ohhh, I can hear 'em singing,  
"Keep on dreaming, even if it breaks your heart."_

He wanted to give up for so long, just disappear- fly up into the stratosphere and keep going until he stopped, bury himself in the bottom of the lake and stop existing. But he'd sit in that window, even in the summers when the heat was unbearable, and listen to the man go onstage and sing yet again. Night after night. How did he keep doing it, setting himself up for the same failure over and over again, yet another parent calling him creepy for just wanting to teach?

This man was starting to become Jack's inspiration when suddenly he got sick. He went to the hospital the next town over and passed away within in the week. Jack went to the funeral, mostly because he was curious. It was so small- one would think that the man would have a few more friends, at least some from the bar. But it was mostly his family there, a couple brothers and their kids. The bartender did show up, but there just wasn't a lot of people. Apparently the man's name was Isaac. Jack felt bad for not knowing it.

His window wasn't nearly as comforting. It felt cold, and not in a welcoming cold sort of way.

_Some dreams stay with you forever,  
Drag you around but bring you back to where you were.  
Some dreams keep on getting better,  
Gotta keep believing if you wanna know for sure._

And then he was a guardian. Standing in town after all was said, done, and over with, Jack felt as if he wasn't himself any more. The streets he walked before were different. His lake was different, _much_ different. Jamie was different, he wasn't just a kid he watched walk home from school. Everything was better, so much better. He wasn't lonely. He could visit the other guardians whenever he wanted. He had _friends_.

He was walking Jamie home from school one day when he passed it, the old bar with the half circle window with the glass of beer in it.

"Jack?" Jamie asked as the older boy stopped in front of the building, staring at it quietly.

Jack looked at Jamie and smiled, gesturing for him to go on. "I'll catch you in a bit." Jack assured him, and he watched the boy go on around the corner before he looked back at his old window, sighing.

_Ohhh, I can hear 'em playing.  
I can hear the ringing of a beat up old guitar,  
Ohhh, I can hear 'em singing,  
"Keep on dreaming, even if it breaks your heart."_

Sliding into place, Jack felt slightly out of place for once. It was eerily silent without the man tuning his guitar inside, talking to the bartender in his gravelly voice. Jack sat there for a minute or so in silence, listening. And that's when it started to creep into his head- the tunes of old that were played every single night, melodies about dreams and hope and wonder and memories, about dancing with beautiful women and losing love only to find it again, about friendship and caring and comfort.

Songs about loneliness.

Jack started to cry again, the first time he had in a long time. He automatically pulled a knee to his chest and rested his forehead on it as the tears flowed from his eyes. But these tears weren't of sadness, he knew that. What did he have to be sad about? He had friends, he finally knew who he was, he knew his purpose. He was happy, for the first time in his life. But he kept crying, thankful none of the other kids found him as he kept weeping, tears staining his pants and sweatshirt. He was inconsolable, sobs wracking his entire body as he heaved, gasping air like a fish out of water.

His tears finally ran dry and he wiped his snotty nose on his sleeve, sighing again.

No. Those weren't tears of sadness. Those were tears of _relief_.

_Ohhh, I can hear 'em playing.  
I can hear the ringing of a beat up old guitar,  
Ohhh, I can hear 'em singing,  
"Keep on dreaming, even if it breaks your heart."_

He helped North when Christmas came around. Sometimes he went on nightly runs with Baby Tooth and Toothiana. Sandy would invite him to watch the dream sand. Bunnymund? Well, Jack didn't ruin Easter that year, so they stayed on decent terms. Jack stayed busy. But some nights, he would go back to his window and sit. He wouldn't cry anymore, but he would sit there solemnly, listening to the silence. The bar wasn't the same without the music.

Then he heard it- the twang of a guitar. He looked up and looked inside, at the young man sitting on the stool. He wasn't wearing a cowboy hat, or flannel. He just had a T-shirt and messy hair. He barely looked twenty-one. Jack frowned and stared at him, as if his thoughts would force him to get off the stage. No, he wasn't allowed to play, it wasn't his stage. But the boy angled the microphone toward him and tapped it, clearing his throat to announce himself.

"Uh, hello. I'm Andrew."

"Hello Andrew. Get off the stage." Jack muttered to himself, crossing his arms.

"I'm ah, one of Isaac's old students. And I know how much he liked to play here, so I thought I'd come down and play some songs, since it's been a year since he died. Today." Jack frowned. Had it really been that long? "So I'm gonna play something new. Yeah, uh, this is 'Even if It Breaks Your Heart', by The Eli Young Band."

"_Keep on dreaming, even if it breaks your heart."_

Jack listened in silence, gulping as his breath stuck in throat.

_Keep on dreaming,  
Don't let it break your heart.  
_

He was crying again.


End file.
